


there's no reason for me to be this upset about a sam mendes film but here we fuckin' are baby!

by badmeetsevil



Category: 1917 (2019)
Genre: Gen, everyone shut the fuck up cause ive got things to say, i am also on crack cocaine for even thinking about writing this, i am so upset like i am literally so fucking upset, idk how to tag this, if you've seen 1917 you know what it's about
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-27
Updated: 2020-01-27
Packaged: 2021-02-27 05:21:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22221721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badmeetsevil/pseuds/badmeetsevil
Summary: All Will can do at this point is pray.
Relationships: Implied Will/Tom
Comments: 14
Kudos: 76





	there's no reason for me to be this upset about a sam mendes film but here we fuckin' are baby!

**Author's Note:**

> i dont know what fucking possessed me to write this but i saw these two cunts and i went "this is my time to fucking shine" anyway this movie made me fucking sad. i started writing and finished writing this on january 12th like right after seeing it but was too embarrassed to post it but there are now like 20 works in this tag so im glad y'all see this shit the same way i do.
> 
> this is for the gays!! let's take this film hostage like we did once upon a time in hollywood (-:

Will knew Tom's need to help would get him into a bad situation. He never expected it to be like this. 

Tom is _wailing_ , like a wounded animal caught in a trap. Every single movement of his body cause him to feel like the one knife wound is a thousand. Will keeps saying something about his brother, how they have to keep going and make it to Ecoust and go find Joseph, but Tom can hardly hear it. He sounds so far away. He can feel the blood from his abdomen leaking down his stomach, and Will's hand pressing firmly down on it to try to stop the flow of blood, to try to do anything that will get him to be able to stand up on his own. 

"Am I dying?"

It comes out in a sputter, like he's choking. A frantic sputter looking for an answer to a question that will never have a proper reason. All he wanted to do was help, it was in his nature.

The barn burns behind them. Only one of them will come out with this story to tell. Will holds back a sob.

The battlefield was no place for Tom. Tom was a gentle kid who never spoke too loud and always replied to authority with "yes, ma'am," or "no, sir." He could barely wield a weapon when he arrived. He's a polite boy, but determined. He's a good man, but with poor judgment. 

It ends here.

Will lets out a wisp of an answer, an answer that should not exist. "Yes."

The Aid Post is not far away.

He knows this is it for them. 

Tom clutches the photo of his mother to his chest, right over his heart, and sobs. He clutches Will's hand with the other, weakly, but it's as much strength as he can manage at the moment. Will has one hand on Tom's wound, pressing as hard as he can, trying as much as he can, his other hand is under his head. He holds him like he would hold a baby, with all the support he can manage and gentle like a lamb.

All Will can do at this point is pray. 

Nothing is going to change the situation. 

This is it.

He takes the pressure of off Tom's stomach, and the release forces an airy breath out of him. Will takes Tom's hand in his, tightly, and squeezes it. Tom's done so much for Will. He's even risked his life for him. The least he can do for him is make sure he goes out as comfortable as he can. He cradles Tom's face like he would a lover, like he should. He wipes his tears out of his eyes, off of his cheek, and they look at each other.

They think of each other's mothers. 

"Talk to me," Tom whispers. His voice is growing faint. 

Will babbles. He rambles about whatever can come to mind first. He tells him where he has to go, and how he's gonna get there. He talks about Will's older brother, and how he looks just like him, just a bit older. And he strokes his face desperately, as if that will ignite a fire inside himself and allow him to gasp a few more breaths. 

And that's it. 

Will has been able to hold his tears back, be strong for Tom in the moment where he needed him. But now, he lets them flow. He leans in to hug Tom's body close to him, his blood is still warm on his hands but his body is freezing. He holds him like he could transfer some of his own life into his body. He kisses him, gentle on the cheek, a final farewell. A send off of remembrance and respect. 

He wishes he could've done more. 

Help arrives, ultimately not for them but for the plane that went down. They're too late. There's nothing they can do. They can't even give Tom a proper Christian burial. They can only leave him on the side of the road, hoping, praying that someone finds him and is decent enough to at least treat him with some dignity. 

He meets a Captain, Smith he thinks he said his name was. He's too wrapped up in his own head about what has happened in the past hour or two.

Will sits over Tom's body, prays a silent prayer in his head as the two privates go to get his helmet and his gun. He has one hand on Tom's shoulder, trying and failing to keep it together. His breaths are shallow and one tear drops from his eye and onto Tom's cold, pale face. He wipes it off immediately.

"A friend?" He asks, his voice quiet, like his words would stir the dead. 

Will looks up at him. He's solemn, his eyes are glossy. His eyes revert back to Tom's face. He doesn't have enough strength in his voice to reply, and all he does is nod. Will wipes what he has left of Tom off onto the grass.

They discuss the movement to Ecoust, and Will takes the ride with him and his men. His platoon of his fellow British men who are all somehow still laughing and joking and spitting and taking the piss out of everything. Will barely says a word, he lets Captain Smith do all the talking, and he boards the car next to men who all somehow remind him of Tom. 

He recognizes that all of these men have lives. Lives outside of the war, lives that they share with everyone and lives that no one will know. Not all of them will return to their lives. They pray every night for an end to a war that none of them believe is worth fighting, and not all of them will return home. None of them will return to the home that they had before.

Everything will change.

He exchanges no words with any of them. They all somehow understand.


End file.
